The Assassin of Vraik ✔️

Chapter Eight: Choices

            No matter how hard she kicked him, how many times she sliced at him, it didn’t matter the amount of times she blocked or dodged his attacks. Kylla grinded her teeth, mind racing to spot as much as a single opening.

            Draikovitch had a perfect defense. Impenetrable like a castle surrounded by a moat and guarded by The God.  He stood there with his hands swinging gently by his side, and an amused look on his face. With a taller body, longer arms, longer legs, better build, and he had many years on her.

            She was outclassed in every way, with an almost zero percent chance of simply landing a hit. The thought made her smile grimly, and she remembered the feral look on Kei’s face.

            Kylla crouched low, and circled him like a lion stalking its prey. She held her daggers at the ready, both clasped tightly, resting in her palms. The entire battle, Draikovitch hadn’t moved an inch, remaining in the same spot, with a childish and mocking look.

            “Come on Killer.” He sung, taunting her with a beckoning finger. “Come and kill me. I’m waiting.” He flashed a smile. “I promise not to move a single spot.” Kylla lunged at him, first with a thrust, and when he dodged, she twirled slicing at him with her other dagger.

            His foot flashed in the corner of her eye, and she went sprawling down the hall. She gripped her ribs, and groaned. They hurt like the Abyss and probably more than one were broken.

            She gripped her daggers until her knuckles went white and sprung to her feet. Step by step, she cautiously began to circle him once again. This time she would be more patient. There would come a time where Draikovitch would delve into self confidence and she would slay him. She could almost see his blood scattered across the room, his head twenty feet from his body. The thought made her smile.

            “Why do you hunt me, Killer? Is it because I took you in when you were an orphan? Or perhaps because I fed you and clothed you? Because I educated you? Maybe it was because I taught you how to fight like a beast?” Draikovitch asked, raising his gnarled knuckles to his throat. An evil smirk replaced the smile. “Oh, I know. It’s because I killed your parents in front of you and had you bathe in their blood. Then had you drink it until you couldn’t after feeding you drugs so you wouldn’t remember them. You do all that and then tell me that I am a monster?”

            Kylla roared and lashed out at him, all her defenses thrown out. She ran him through the arm, the first wound she had managed to inflict. Ignoring the knowledge that she should retreat, Kylla pressed on and took advantage of the pain she had inflicted.

            While holding onto the dagger deep in his right shoulder, she twisted to the same side while his opposite arm grazed her cheek. She felt blood poor out of it, and realized Draikovitch also had hidden blades. It was only skin level, nothing to worry about. She shoved his left leg so it locked, and the kneed it twice before it cracked and buckled.

            Then she gasped in pain, and her legs gave out from underneath her. Her vision went blurry with tears that stung her eyes. Kylla tried to keep hold of her daggers, but her hands shook with the effort that of keeping the grip that eventually she couldn’t anymore.

            Behind her Draikovitch laughed, teasing her about her lack of skill and how her family had been worthless scum. How her mother had been a whore, and her father a drunken pig.

            She struggled to her knees, only able to do so by placing her elbows atop her thighs. Her breathing was coming in ragged and blood dripped from a cut above her mouth filling it.  When she coughed up blood, Kylla almost collapsed again.